Starcraft: Perseus
by Xenophon13
Summary: A crossover between StarCraft, Babylon 5, Star Trek, Star Wars, and Avatar.  This is our first crack at fanfic writing, so please review!
1. Prologue

Starcraft

Perseus: Part One

By **Dazergrock54444** And **Xenophon13**

**Prologue**

October 3rd, 2546

Unknown Position

There was, simply, a hulk. Once it had been a warship, proud and unyielding until the very end. But now, it was there, drifting. There were, however, two marks of pride still there: an emblem of an eagle beneath a single star clutching an unknown world within an inverted, open triangle of thin, curved lines; and a single word: _Perseus_.

Though the reactor had long burned through all of its fuel, the engines had long ceased glowing, and the weapons had long fallen silent, the ship still retained its pride, its dignity.

Every once in a while, it would pass through an inhabited system in what had long ago been confirmed by scientists as an endless circuit through the sector. Some still argue to this day that the course had been planned, that the ship was possessed, but those people were few and far between.

Decades before, salvage attempts had been made, all to no gain. The ship refused to divulge its precious cargo, helping propagate the ghost stories surrounding it. However, all the salvagers wanted was the physical cargo; weapons, precious metals and the like. The ship, however, had no such thing. What it did have was a story, a saga spanning time and space; unimaginable to most, but there none the less.

The ship has seen wars, and here remains. It stands in its true element, space, as it glides toward whatever destiny is deemed necessary.

The story of the _Perseus_ starts nearly seventy years earlier, at the place none in this region know of: the planet simply called Earth.

January 5th, 2477

Earth Dry-dock Facilities; High Orbit: Earth, Sol System.

The lone scientist watched as construction began on the ship that was, in essence, his brainchild.

"Amazing how it goes so quickly from a bunch of random squiggles on a piece of paper to a real hull," he muttered to himself.

As things stood, the ship was to be the first of its class. While not as massive as the Behemoth-Class Battlecruiser was, this ship was meant to be able to take such an adversary head on and come out able to throw down with another. What made this particular design so superior was in the weapons layout: several heavy slug throwing cannons, a point defense envelope so airtight that it would make any decent lawyer green with envy were it a legal case, the four plasma turrets on the hammerhead, two silos of experimental plasma missiles and, last but definitely not least, the latest rendition of the powerful Yamato Cannon.

The scientist had planned for more features in the concept phase, but didn't have time to put them in at the actual design phase. The main issue had always been time, command wanted the blueprints almost overnight, and the designer had not been able to come up with any method of placing the other improvements before the deadline.

Those changes had been placed on another set of plans, the ones meant for the eventual reevaluation of the design after ten or so years of useful combat life for the idea. What he didn't anticipate was the politics involved.

A five-year project quickly evolved into seven, and then to nine, as problems with the workers, materials, everything except the dock itself, began to crop up. And as the project stalled, the more politicians there were to oppose the idea. In the end, all production halted, and the ship was quickly forgotten.

While forgotten, the ship was still there, and if one took the time to look through the dock's files, one would find the ship listed under the title '15-A', with a status of 'Indefinitely Postponed Pending Review'.

What had been a man's dream had lost in the battle against politics. Eventually, that region of the dock became abandoned in favor of more advanced facilities, and ship 15-A was considered a permanent resident.

December 6th, 2499

_DSS Aleksander_; Standard Orbit: Earth, Sol System

"Are you sure that you want to do this, Admiral?" asked the Russian.

"Of course," the Admiral replied. "That ship is the best choice for such an assignment. The vessel in berth 15-A is the perfect candidate."

"I'm only saying that that ship has not been worked on in twenty-two years," the Russian shot back. "The metal could have rotted away. To say nothing of actually finding the plans." He let the unspoken question hang in the air.

"This campaign needs a vessel to test what it is that we are bringing to the field, Alexi. That ship is the one. When is the earliest we can have it completed?"

"The ship is essentially completed. All that remains is some electronics and any upgrades made necessary by the time passed. If the workers go to failure, the vessel should be ready by Christmas."

"Good. The next step is to find the crew. Who did you have in mind?"

"Most of the crew has already been reassigned; all that remains is the Captain and the Executive Officer. I had these two in mind." The Russian handed over some files.

"Fiske? I remember him. He was the one who reeled in that rogue ship out near Jupiter six years ago, no?"

"Exactly, but he may be a bit, shall we say, unwilling to serve. The XO is a bit more straightforward. Commander Drake would be the perfect foil for any of Fiske's, issues."

"Be careful, Alexi, though you have faith in him, I can see only trouble ahead with what you're thinking. The crew shall be as you chose, but watch yourself; this issue will have severe repercussions if it ever comes to light."

"The decision was yours, Admiral. The construction will proceed as planned. You will have your ship."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

January 3rd, 2500

_DSS Perseus_, High Orbit: Gliease IV

There always was a time and a place. It was the time, they knew the place, or would in a little while; all they needed was the personnel to do whatever was required. When the order to ship out to the Gliease Colony came through, Zachary Fiske had been nearly speechless. After six years of semi-retirement, the forty-something captain was just a little rusty. His most recent combat experience was a small series of maneuvers out in the Jovian region; and that had been a near disaster.

This time, however, he was stuck in command of a ship still in the prototyping phase. And he still had to get his executive officer; he needed to shake down the full crew after that; and then there was the glaring lack of orders to cause even more confusion. _All in all,_ he thought, _I'm overdue for my trip to the hell that is HIGHCOM. If I'm lucky, I only get saddled with this accident waiting to happen for a few months, then I get to either go back home, or I get assigned to command a proper_Behemoth-Class_vessel._

The _Perseus_ was a new ship; fresh out of the dry dock that had been his home for nearly twenty-three years. The class in and of itself was new, some fancy design that was downright tiny compared to the _Behemoth-Class_ cruisers generally in use at the time. The _Maverick-Class_ wasn't meant to carry a full legion, not on the scale of what something like the _Aleksander_, the shining star of the fleet, could hold, but the power plant was something else. The _Perseus_'s reactor could easily put out energy well into the terrajoule range, but that was if all the safeties were disabled. And assuming that the crew was desperate enough to risk a high volatility reactor skipping all the warning signs and going direct to what is colloquially referred to as 'KABOOM' and reducing the ship and all its occupancy to atoms. The typical being thought of that as being a bad thing. The sublight engines could pull somewhere around .16_c_ on a really good day, but were normally kept to about .13_c_. Weaponry was the standard fit for the whole fleet, more than enough guns for what was supposed to happen; though the ship was the testing platform for some new plasma torpedoes that R&D had been cooking up, and off.

Fiske himself was of medium height, slightly above average weight, and was just now starting to show his grey hairs. Decked out in his standard, bells and whistles free, uniform, the captain was just a shade shy of imposing, and really trying to go the rest of the way. His grey eyes looked as though a storm was always going on in his head, and his demeanor was similar. Ready to go into a fight in which no quarter was given nor expected, Fiske would almost certainly be in his element fighting whatever threat the Directorate might send him to assault.

The bridge was laid out slightly differently from the usual way. A fairly long hallway stretching from the bow, just above the Yamato emitters, to about two-thirds back along the hammerhead, the bridge was larger than most. A brand new idea was the fighter bay in the neck. The area was usually crew quarters, but the compressed size of the _Maverick-Class_ meant that what space that wasn't in use on older models was used, and that what precious few companionways that weren't one way quickly lost that status.

And yet, here he was, waiting for one of his dropship pilots to pick up his soon to be XO, Tiberius Drake.

"Captain?" one of the techs called out. "Warrant Officer Pilarte just called in. Commander Drake is on his way."

"Good, good," Fiske replied. "Inform the Commander that he is to report to my ready room as soon as he is aboard."

"Yes, sir," the tech returned as was expected.

The ready room itself was where it belonged, in respect to the adjusted layout of the _Maverick-Class_ of course, which was just off the bridge. The interior was, in a word, simple. A desk, three chairs, a couch, and an end table for said couch. Nothing really personal, understandable as Captain Fiske was the first user of the room and hadn't taken the time to do much. Somehow, he felt that never would do much. He didn't want to get too attached to anything here; not the crew, not the ship, not even the food. He sighed and looked out the window. It was going to be a long several months.

Tiberius Drake sat down in the dropship, nervous with anticipation. It had been a long day and he was tired, but he was too anxious to try to sleep. He had spent 4 years at the academy and another 3 aboard an obsolete science vessel, just for today. He was finally getting to serve aboard a battlecruiser. And this wasn't just any battlecruiser. This was an elite ship, a test bed for features that may be used on the new Hercules or Minotaur classes. Or so he had been told. The ways of fleet command were mysterious. Even if it was an ancient Leviathan Class, he wouldn't have minded. It was simply the fact that it was a battlecruiser that counted. He knew many an officer that would sell their souls to be in his position right now. Yes, he was a lucky young man. As he was thinking these things, he found himself beginning to doze off. _It's a long flight,_he thought, _Might as well…_

"Malik Stevens?"

"That's me."

Malik stepped into the circular chamber where he would be fitted with a new CMC. He hated doing this, and couldn't see why he couldn't just use his old one. It was probably just another way to make him regret that night, that awful night, when he had accidentally killed the constable of his small Botswanian town. The constable had been harassing a woman, so Malik had provoked him into a fight. The details were blurry, but he had ended up hitting the Constable with a chair. The blow snapped the Constable's neck, and had landed Malik ten years as a UED marine.

As he stepped onto the foot clamps, machines began to whirr. Robotic arms started placing servo motors and metal plates around him. Other arms welded and riveted these together. The world became a flood of metal and fire. An uncomfortable heat and pressure began to build up inside of him. Just as he thought he couldn't bear it anymore, the machines stopped. The door at the other end of the chamber opened up and steam filled the room. He exited and began to follow the "breaking in run" his HUD had indicated. This made sure the metal plates settled in a position that was conducive to movement, and helped teach marines the layout of the ship. He sighed. It felt good to be back in a CMC. He played some music on his headset, and let the music take his mind elsewhere. _Just three more years,_he thought. _Just three more years._

Stanislaus VonStadt was bored. He was also angry at the Captain for sending him to pick up the new XO, as if he were some sort of taxi driver. He was the tactical officer for Pete's sake! To make matters worse, the XO didn't even pay him any notice, so it would have made no difference if the Captain had sent a dropship pilot. Sulkily, Stan sat at the controls, wishing he had brought his datapad. Behind him, he heard faint snores. The XO had fallen asleep! He grinned wickedly, and punched the stereo, cranking the volume all the way up. The dropship filled with 110 Decibels of _Yellow Submarine_. The new XO bolted upright, banging his head on the ceiling. He stood there, his immaculate uniform all in shambles, and then asked,

"What was that for?"

"I can't hear you," Stan replied, showing no interest in turning the volume down. "You'll have to speak up."

Tiberius walked into the cockpit, where the young red haired pilot was innocently turning the joystick and punching buttons. He noticed that the autopilot light was on. He gave the pilot a withering look. The pilot looked back at him and then turned off the music. An awkward silence filled the room.

"Nice to meet you," Stan said. "My name is Stanislaus VonStadt. I'm the gunnery officer aboard the Perseus. I look forward to serving under you."

"Commander Tiberius Drake," The XO replied, "As your superior officer, I ask you never to do that again."

With that, he went back to his seat without shaking hands and promptly fell back asleep. Stan noticed that one of the XO's eyes was a prosthetic. He briefly thought about asking the XO how he got it, but thought the better of it.

Just as he too was starting to doze off, he saw the Perseus in the distance. He truly was a thing of beauty. Five fusion engines, a terajoule power core, twenty-four laser turrets, plasma torpedoes, a 10 Megaton Yamato Cannon, 12 Wraiths, 4-5 meters of neosteel hull plating, and best of all, The Birdie, a one Gigaton planet buster nuke. He grinned. The Koprulu Sector was in for a nasty surprise.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The dropship carrying Tiberius and Stanislaus pulled into the left hammerhead hanger bay. They disembarked and walked down a long hallway to the bridge, where they found the captain and the rest of the bridge crew busily working at their consoles. Tiberius Saluted.

"Commander Tiberius Drake, reporting for duty."

"At ease commander," the captain replied, returning the salute. "Allow me to introduce you to our bridge crew. You've met Tactical Officer VonStadt." The man in question was already slinking away. He then motioned to an attractive young woman who appeared to be of Indian descent. "This is our helmswoman Ensign Indira Patel" Next, he gestured toward a stout man working at a console at the side of the bridge. "This is our communications officer, Lieutenant Oliver Armistead." The captain then pointed out an extremely thin man who was sitting at the gigantic holographic display in the rear of the bridge. "That is Lieutenant Aaron Mitchel, our navigator. And somewhere is our chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Mikhail Valentov – ah, there he is," the Captains gaze fell on a well built man with rather beady eyes and brown hair who was off to the side near a console with several missing panels.

"Charmed, I'm sure. I also double as Chief Electrical Officer," Valentov stated, with a significant Russian accent.

"Mr. Valentov does general fixit work when he isn't threatening to smash something with a sledgehammer," the Captain clarified. "The easiest way to get him somewhere is to page him over the intercom."

"I take it that you have worked together in the past?" Drake queried.

"Long time ago," Valentov answered. "Some ten, fifteen years past. Speaking of which Captain, you still owe me that case of vodka."

Drake was just shy of incredulous. "What happened to no betting any alcoholic beverages when aboard a ship?" he asked.

"Why?" Fiske asked, noncommittally. "Vice Admiral Stukov is known for his affinity for vodka."

Drake was trapped, and he knew it. "Can we get back to the briefing that you were about to give me before you were sidetracked by the Lieutenant Commander here?" he asked.

"Right," Fiske began, "your duties should have been clarified on the ground, but here is the rundown: First, you are to take over if I am killed or otherwise incapable of executing my duties as Captain. Second, all crew squabbles cross your desk after going through, in this order, the Deck Officer present, the Division Officer, and then Department Head. If you can't figure it out for yourself, then you pass it on to me, which is almost a guarantee of reprimands and disciplinary action for all. Third, you will, as a general rule, be in command of the tactical bridge, or rather, the bridge we are on now. Fourth, and by far the most important, you are to oversee the Ghosts we will be dragging along. I just said all of that so the powers that be can't get after me, so please affirm, in writing, that I have informed you of your primary duties."

"Yes, sir," Drake replied. He was unable to stop the slight sullen tone he took on whenever he was talking about ghosts.

"Excuse me, Commander?" Fiske asked. "I will not tolerate any sort of insubordination. VonStadt's antics are one thing, but anything even remotely resembling mutiny will be dealt with swiftly and severely! Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir," Drake replied. "I merely have," he paused, "_personal_, reasons to dislike Ghosts."

"Whether or not those reasons are valid, I don't want to know," Fiske said. "But right now, you don't have a choice in the matter. The fact is, you're in charge of keeping the Ghosts out of trouble at all times. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Drake replied.

"Good. At this point, we're waiting for Arcuri to finish breaking in his new pilots, after which, we join the rest of the fleet. We do a full briefing at 1400 hours. Until then, you are dismissed."

With that, Fiske turned around and resumed his overseeing of the bridge tune-ups. _This,_ he thought,_is definitely going to be a long few months._

Down in weapons control, Lieutenant Alexander Morton was contemplating what was about to go down. He knew Stanislaus VonStadt by reputation, but the lieutenant was still leery about letting the man and his eccentric music collection into the laser control suite. Yes, VonStadt could get results, but the price for those results seemed almost too much. Having one's eardrums blown out by 110 decibels of five hundred forty year old music just didn't seem very appetizing. But Morton was willing to go to great lengths to gain results, and he had bought several sets of earplugs the minute he had seen the projected crew roster. _Just to learn how far my limits extend,_ he thought. Just then, VonStadt walked in. Morton beckoned to him.

"VonStadt," he said, "I'm Lieutenant Morton. As of right now, I want you to know that I won't be putting up with any of your antics. Your reputation stops right here."

"And just how are you to enforce your rules?" VonStadt asked, acting as though he had heard this speech a thousand times before. "There should be no issue with my being here. You'll get a cannon fired when it needs firing, don't worry. I would think that having some sort of music to go with is not too much trouble."

"All right then," Morton tossed back. "The volume does not exceed 90 decibels, understand?"

"Of course, sir."

"Very good. I assume that you know how to operate the cannon. Go set up in your station. Dismissed."

Tiberius examined his quarters. They were smaller than the ones he had had on the Galileo, but then again, he wouldn't have to put up with leaky pipes and rusty walls anymore. He hadn't brought much with him, so unloading took only about ten minutes. He pulled out clothes, his laptop, some books, and a couple music chips, and arranged them in something resembling a state of order.

He had 45 minutes before he had to go on duty, so he decided to go down to the officer's mess and have dinner. He had just started a plate of sautéed vegetables when his communicator beeped. "Drake here. What is it?" he asked.

"Uh, sir, this is Lieutenant Jorvan, from security. We need you down in the cantina. There's been a fight."

Drake sighed. "What happened to the Deck Officer, Division Commander, and Dept. Head?"

"Well, uh, sir, it involves a ghost." Jorvan Replied

"All right," Tiberius said wearily "I'll be down there immediately." He stood up. _Damn,_he thought, _I hate not finishing a meal._

On the bridge, word of the incident in the cantina had just reached Fiske's ears.

_It had to happen sometime_, he thought. _Just would have hoped that he would have more time to settle in first._

Valentov had headed for engineering a few moments ago, something about temperature fluxuations in the reactor.

_Something else to worry about, when the reactor is already going haywire and we have yet to start moving._

"Sir, we've just received a transmission from the _Aleksander_, I think it's the orders," Armisted called out.

"Good, send them to my ready room. I'll review them there."

When Tiberius arrived at the cantina, he found a flustered lieutenant Jorvan waiting for him outside the door. He saluted, and then began to fly into the details of what happened. "Well sir it all started and nobody knew and I was at-"

"I'm in a bad mood lieutenant." Tiberius cut him off. "I don't like being called away while off duty. Now tell me exactly what happened, and speak slowly."

"Yes sir," The young lieutenant replied. "It seems that one of the marines made a bet with another marine that he could ask out this ghost, but apparently Ghost #4 doesn't respond well to that, so she knocked him out, so then about ten other marines joined the fight, and now there are fifteen unconscious marines on the floor and a ghost who will only talk to a superior officer; which is you, sir."

"Thank you." Tiberius replied. "Call medical and have them check on the marines. There'll be hell to pay for that ghost." He then walked in. The lieutenant's explanation had not prepared him for the scene within. The unsuited marines were lying in a neat pile in the center of the room, surrounded by broken bottles, tables, chairs, and bits of food. Sitting alone at the bar, sipping a martini and looking arrogant was ghost #4.

"I wondered when you'd get here." she said sarcastically. "I was worried that this ship could turn out to be lax on discipline like so many others. I see I was wrong. I suppose you want me to leave?"

"I had something like that in mind." Tiberius replied. "In fact, I'm calling a meeting for all ghosts at my office in thirty minutes. You are hereby banned from the cantina, pending further notice." The ghost looked completely unfazed. She gave Tiberius a look of utter disdain and silently walked out. A few marines chuckled but were shut up by a withering look from Tiberius. Although he hated his prosthetic eye, it did make him somewhat more intimidating. As he walked out he ordered an executive lift, normally used in emergencies. He had only 30 minutes to get acquainted with his new office, and didn't want to waste a second. He knew that any sign of weakness of discomfort on his part would be ruthlessly exploited by the ghosts.

Back in weapons control, the lights cut out, and the entire compartment started to shake.

"Alright, nobody move!" Morton yelled after the shaking was over. "Give it ten seconds, and then somebody get me a flashlight."

The ten seconds came and went; the lights still didn't come back on.

"Where's that flashlight, people?" Morton asked.

A tech quickly brought one over, and Morton switched it on.

The scene would have been hilarious, save for the fact that there was a large amount of military grade explosives that was unsecured. The people were suspended in the activities that they were engaged in when the power cut.

Morton walked the fifteen meters to the panel containing lighting controls. The controls were all set to active. He found his radio and called Engineering.

"This is Lieutenant Morton in Gunnery to Engineering, is Lieutenant Commander Valentov there?" he asked.

"Just got here when the power cut, give me ten minutes," Valentov's voice came back.

Nearly twenty minutes later, power was restored.

"Thank you, but that was almost double your estimate," Morton said, with just a tinge of sarcasm.

"Picky, picky," Valentov shot back. "At least I got power restored. The problem was not where it was expected."

Then the intercom crackled to life.

"All senior officers, report to the Strategic Bridge, in five minutes," the Captain's voice came out.

At the same time, Tiberius sat at his desk, looking over the four sullen Ghosts he had been given command of. Two were male and two were female, and all gave the impression that they considered Tiberius to be an insect of some sort. Nevertheless, he was their commanding officer, and had to be obeyed. "So," Tiberius began, "It seems that up until now, at least one of us does not have a complete understanding of the fact that you all are bound by the same regulations as an ordinary crewman. I have taken this time to warn all of you that any disorderly conduct will not be taken lightly, and will result in loss of privileges and time in the brig. Any questions?" The ghosts shook their heads silently. "Good. You may now leave." They filed out one at a time. Tiberius sighed. He desperately wanted some dinner, but he had to begin preparing for departure. Suddenly, a loud rumble shook the hall and the lights cut. Tiberius grabbed his communicator and shouted "What the hell just happened?"

"The power just cut out sir, and we think that there might have been an explosion in Engineering," a voice came out, probably one of the various low level techs that scurried about the ship.

The commander had not quite forgotten about his unruly charges, and gave them a withering stare. "If any of you, and I mean any of you, did this, expect repercussions."

And with that, the five of them waited for the lights to come back on. When they did, Drake simply sat down, and watched his ghosts as they got as close to twiddling their thumbs as they could possibly get. He barely heard Captain Fiske's summons, and contented himself with watching.

"Alright, ladies, gentlemen," Fiske nodded to each of his senior officers in turn, noting that Commander Drake was absent. "As of half an hour ago, I have our orders. On September seventh of last year, command decided that the time had come to go reclaim some colonies. These colonies did not exist until five years ago when we received garbled transmissions from a region towards the core known as the 'Koprulu Sector' to the locals. After having watched them for some time, command decided to bring them into the fold. We have reason to believe that there will be armed resistance, particularly from this so called 'Terran Confederacy'. We will rejoin the fleet at the edge of the Gliease System and begin the jump to the Koprulu Sector. The estimated timeframe from our departure from here to our arrival there is nearly fourteen months, so everyone goes into cryo. This includes general staff that would otherwise be awake the whole trip. The rendezvous is in four hours; you have until then to stow all of your gear and get your individual departments to the cryo bays. We are going to be part of the advance wave meant to clear out the resistance at the projected emergence point. Any questions?"

Valentov was the first, asking, "What about the power outages? We cannot all go into cryo with the power supplies being so volatile, and of course the reactor may be in quite a state."

"Point," Fiske replied. "Ask for volunteers. I won't force anyone to stay up for fourteen months without relief."

"We go on shifts," Valentov countered. "Every two weeks the crew on duty wakes up the next batch on the roster. That way, all get their beauty sleep."

"Good idea," Fiske said. "Draw up the shift roster, all departments will be rotating people in and out for general maintenance." He paused and looked about the room.

"If there are no further questions, dismissed. And someone find out where in God's name Commander Drake is."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

In only three short hours, a full shift roster had been drawn up. While he wasn't up for duty until five months into the journey, Fiske had a feeling that he would be spending most of the voyage out of cryo. There were many reasons, first and foremost among those was his wish to see to it that the mission didn't train-wreck before it actually started. Though he had almost zero desire to remain in his current position for any extended period, he had his orders, and he would carry them out as close to the letter as the situation permitted.

At this point, Commander Valentov was wrapping up his main report on the power outage earlier.

"As you can see, Captain," he said, "these wires were expertly spliced, and those rumbles were not the ship straightening itself out. I don't know the full history of this ship, but that junction isn't from the original construction, and there wasn't any warping near engineering due to the pause in construction. In fact, the place where the junction box is was space until last month. I would have expected the leads to the primary transformer to go, not the distribution node the next compartment over, and there might have been some explosions. This was, in my opinion, an act of sabotage."

Fiske looked up, and it seemed as though the hyperactive aging process common among ship captains on long haul voyages was already in full swing. On a normal captain, it took about six months of nonstop activity to cause such an advanced case, and now, it had only been a few standard hours.

"If I'm reading this right," Fiske began, "we have a saboteur aboard, and we can do nothing except watch and pray."

"Effectively, sir," Valentov replied.

"The most obvious suspects are the ghosts, on the simple fact that we might piss politicians off by simply being here, but they are ruled out by the trackers in their armor, and the fact that they can't cloak without it," Fiske rattled off. "Next is Drake, on account of his 'personal issues', but even he isn't that stupid. Another candidate is Stanislaus, simply because he is Stanislaus VonStadt."

"Drake was reading _all_ of the ghosts the Riot Act in his office," Valentov countered, "and Stanislaus was in Weapons Control when the outage occurred, Morton can attest to that. And before you ask, that outage was spontaneous, no delayed action whatsoever. One question though."

Fiske nodded.

"Why was Drake the second suspect?" Valentov queried

"You remember his reaction when I said that he would be supervising the ghosts?" Fiske began his answer with a question.

A nod from Mikhail was his only response.

"After he left the bridge, I did a little bit of digging," Fiske said. "I learned that his entire immediate family is deceased. Nothing much, many lose their entire family, but what makes this interesting is that they all were found at the same time. All murdered, execution style, and with more than a few favors called in, I learned that the late Mr. Drake had attracted the ire of the regional governor. Put two and two together, and you get a potential political reprisal carried out by ghosts when Commander Drake is thirteen years old. He has a sealed juvie record, and doesn't really surface until he shows up at a major hospital as a victim of a bombing. Significant scarring to the torso, face, and arms; the left eye was declared a total loss the moment the paramedics saw him. All in all, our Executive Officer has the potential to be significantly unstable, and I don't enjoy the prospect of having him on a revenge binge."

"Wise man once said, 'When in doubt, get a paring knife or a scalpel. If that doesn't work, use a shotgun.' Just as effective as the knives, but the gun is quicker than attempting to perform delicate surgery on an issue. If you aim just right, you will hit the heart of the problem with one or more pellets, and be done with it," Valentov ventured. "Just broach the subject, and if he cracks, lock him in the brig. If he attempts to escape, strap him down. If he is still a problem, this would not be the first time you've had to take care of a problem with a nine-millimeter to the skull." The engineer was referencing the incident near Jupiter, in which a captain named Bradshaw had broken down and was shooting at supposed friendlies left and right. Fiske's vessel was severely damaged in the attempt to retake it, and in the end, Fiske just took the screaming man to an unused compartment and put him out of his misery.

The look on Fiske's face said that even Bradshaw was not the first.

"Let's just file that under last ditch plans for when all else fails," Fiske replied. "As for when we do enter warp, I want to keep the problems to a minimum, so I'm staying out of cryo. You have your own things to stow, so go take care of that." Valentov rose to leave. "And on your way out, send Drake in," Fiske continued. "I beg of you, keep this conversation to yourself. I don't want anyone knowing of our suspicions just yet. Oh, and bring the plate up to the bridge when it's ready. You're dismissed, Mr. Valentov."

Valentov left the ready room without saying another word. When he arrived in the antechamber that served as Fiske's waiting room, he said one sentence: "Watch your step in there."

Malik sat in the mess hall, laughing uproariously with the three other marines that made up his squad. The incident that had occurred previously had given them more than enough to laugh about.

"Aw man," chuckled the group's demolitions expert, Nick, "Those guy's gonna be sore when they wakes up." It was common knowledge that wounds never healed in cryo. The twelve or so marines involved in the fight would have to spend precious time in rehab with no pay.

"And did you see the look on the XO's face?" laughed Malik. "He looked like he was gonna kill that ghost."

"He probably was," replied Sting, the squad's firebat.

Only Erik, the squad's experimental marauder remained silent, only because he was asleep, drunk. When the meal was over, the four soldiers were sent to their respective cryo pods. _Here goes nothing…_Malik thought as he jumped inside. He only barely noticed the shaking of warp entry as the dark curtains of cryo sleep washed over him for the next eight months.

As Drake walked in to the office, the air discernibly grew colder.

"I think we know exactly what you're here about," Fiske stated, matter of fact. "So I'll cut to the chase, why did you skip out on that briefing?"

"I found it necessary to make my authority fully clear to the ghosts," Drake replied, short, sweet, without unnecessary posturing. "I have heard horror stories about undisciplined ghosts, and so the minute an incident occurred I chose to take action. You have my most sincere apology."

"Understandable," Fiske remarked, then adding under his breath, "considering your history."

Drake just raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing," Fiske recovered. "In any case, we leave within the hour, and you are going directly to cryo. Honestly, the transmissions that we are basing our assumptions on are far too old to be considered useful intelligence. I fear that we will be encountering something beyond our wildest expectations, and are poorly equipped to deal with it."

"And I assume a plan was drawn up to deal with power outages," Drake put in. "And I must formally request to be let out of cryo halfway through so that you enter it while I stand duty."

"Naturally," Fiske replied. "Well, you might as well go try to get yourself ready for the journey, because once we enter warp, it should be smooth sailing from here to Koprulu. That's the general prayer around here, especially in Engineering. Oh, and be ready for a rude awakening if I have to order a SCRAM. You're dismissed, but I want you on the bridge in forty minutes."

Drake stood, saluted, and walked out in a perfect display of forced professionalism.

_If only I knew just what he went through,_ Fiske thought, _then I would be able to at least tell him to snap out of it and soldier on. I know the loss, but the way he lost, I can't truly threaten to shove my boot up his ass and be willing to do it and not look like a heartless fool._

Gunnery was just settling down for the trip as everyone else was going to sleep. The common knowledge was that Lieutenant Morton was more anal-retentive than the head weapons officer on the_Aleksander_, who ran a very tight armory. Of course, seeing as how the weapons chief on the _Aleksander_ had been trained by Morton, it was understandable that the _Aleksander_'s chief was more likely than not to loosen up just a little.

Inventory was done, the ordinance locked down, and the nuke was wrapped in lead, Styrofoam, and cellophane. The only chance of being harmed in this armory would be if someone left something out of place and Morton spotted it, causing a severe reprimand and several months polishing bullets.

"Alright folks, lets lock it down," Morton called out. "Everything should be sealed, locked, and or disarmed in some way, shape, or fashion. Don't let me catch something wrong."

As the ordinance cages were locked, Morton walked down the aisle in what could only be analogous to a barracks inspection. Everything was under the microscope, but in all, this was probably the best time to do the inspection.

The next forty minutes turned the already busy vessel into an invariable hive of activity. The fleet that the _Perseus_ was to rendezvous with was composed of seven ships, including the _Aleksander_. The decision was that the _Perseus_ would leave first and arrive about a week ahead of the advance fleet, primarily for scouting purposes. This would be a test of the full capabilities of the various bits of technology that the scientists had welded onto the warp core.

When the time came, Fiske was in his already customary place some two meters behind the helm and right on the centerline of the bridge.

"Ms. Patel, bring us up to standard cruising speed toward the rendezvous point," Fiske ordered easily.

"Aye, sir," Patel answered coolly. "Standard cruising speed toward the fleet, estimated time of arrival: ten minutes."

Fiske just smiled, and at that point, Valentov came onto the bridge with a team of four engineers carrying a large, and oddly shaped, object covered in a black sheet, and judging by the way the engineers were struggling with it, it was heavy.

"Just finished it," Valentov said. "Do you want me to put it in the usual place?"

"Try to mount it, but keep it covered," Fiske replied. "I want this to be ready when we reach the rest of the fleet."

At that, Valentov gestured to an unused section of plating at the rear of the bridge, and the team was fast at work in bolting whatever it was to the wall without removing the cover.

Sometime later Drake came on, obviously a little happier, though not much. He raised an eyebrow at the covered parcel, but walked right to the Captain.

"Sir, we've reached the fleet," Patel stated.

"Good. Set course for the Koprulu Sector," Fiske ordered. "Then set the timer for five minutes."

The course was laid in, and the timer set. There now were only two things left on Fiske's to-do list; and for the first of which, he produced a piece of paper from an inner pocket of his coat and a clipboard both of which he handed to Drake.

"Sign it or run for the escape pods," Fiske said nonchalantly.

"A Medical Release form?" Drake asked. "Since when do I need a Medical Release form to do a tour of duty?"

"Since we are using experimental technology that might or might not have unwanted side effects. Just like before, this is so that the powers that be don't come after me."

Drake signed, and with a slight flourish, Fiske took the form away and placed it in his coat pocket again.

The mission clock read "–3:27"

"Activate the main intercom," Fiske said. When it was done he began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen of the crew, you all know why we are here, and where we are going. I must say that we stand a very good chance of not coming back at all, but that is a risk we all take as soldiers for the Directorate. There is one thing that, in our haste to leave dry dock, we forgot to do; officially, this is an unnamed ship. As such, I would like to present to you the official christening of this vessel; ladies and gentlemen, I give you the EDF-1337, DSS _Perseus_!"

At that moment the black curtain came off of the parcel, revealing a Greek shield bisected by a sword top to bottom, with the Directorate crest inscribed on the shield and the words _Do or Die_along the top edge. The bridge crew clapped as Fiske smashed a champagne bottle on it.

"Take us away Ms. Patel," the captain said coolly.

Observers on the sun soaked plains of Gliese colony saw only a flash of light in the distance as the DSS _Perseus_ sped toward the unknown.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

March 8th, 2501

Tiberius stood on the observation deck just above the tactical bridge. Technically he was supposed to be running all ship operations from the enclosed strategic bridge, but the captain was in cryo and he enjoyed watching the swirls of energy that occurred when a ship exited warp.

"How close are we?" he asked Mitchel.

"We're about to arrive, but the timetable is a little off." The nav officer replied. As he did, the blackness of normal space was already beginning to assert itself among the pin-wheeling reds and blues of warp.

"How off?" Drake asked.

"The fleet should be arriving within minutes of emergence," Mitchel stated. "Speaking of which, we are at the coordinates. Making warp-to-real conversion."

"Alright," the commander said, "Prepare to rendezvous with-" He was cut off by the loud beeping of the proximity sensor.

"Incoming hostiles!" Armistead shouted.

"Open fire, launch wraiths and someone go wake the captain." Drake replied coolly. As an afterthought he added, "And where the hell is the rest of the fleet?" Outside, 1.2 megatons of hellish plasma began to erupt from each of the Perseus' main guns. The encroaching mutalisks were vaporized in their tracks, but there were enough so that the Perseus' guns were all kept busy. The wraiths launched, and began firing, but the distraction that the mutalisks created was enough to keep the Perseus from noticing the overlords approaching from on the left until it was too late.

"Sir, we've got those things on the wings—lots of them." Armistead said breathlessly.

Drake thought a moment, sighed, and then said "Get marines out there in grav boots. We're not going down this easily."

When Malik got the order to suit up, he thought he was dreaming. _We can't be in combat already,_he thought. Nevertheless, he hopped in his new CMC and jogged out to the weapons rack where he got his new prototype C-141 combat rifle. The hall was in utter chaos, filled with the sounds of screeching klaxons, shouting officers, and rumbling CMC's. He scanned for the rest of his squad and found them standing by an airlock.

"Hey there!" Nick shouted. "Glad you could make it!"

"The hell I am," Malik replied. As he stepped into the lock the door closed behind him and with a slight whoosh the world grew silent. There was a pause and then the outer door opened to reveal even more chaos than he had left behind. Marines were already out on the Perseus's wings firing into the mass of hellish monsters soon to be known as the zerg. Malik identified four kinds, referred to as mutalisks, overlords, hydralisks, and zerglings by the locals. He began to fire at an approaching zergling. He emptied a few shots at it with seemingly no effect. He tried again. This attracted the zergling's attention, and it began to charge. In an act of desperation he emptied his whole clip on it. That did the trick. The alien, having lost its ability to cling to the hull, began to drift upwards. Unfortunately, it was still carried by its momentum toward Malik. Unable to dive while wearing gravity boots, he could only watch in horror as the dead zergling spiraled toward him. The impact lifted him off his feet and sent him flying backwards. He flew through space for what seemed like a lifetime until he was jerked to a halt. He glanced down and saw the huge armored hand of one of the prototype marauders around his waist. It set him down and then trundled off, firing missiles at the hordes of oncoming zerg. For a moment Malik looked at the dismembered marines that were already filling the area. _I could have been one of them,_he thought. Then he realized, _I still can._ He shouldered his weapon and began firing. His fate was in God's hands, but the zerg's were in his and he had a job to do.

Back on the bridge the crew stared glumly into the hordes of oncoming zerg. The sensors read that there were about a thousand in total, with more on the way, and they had been fighting for nearly a half an hour. The only happy person on the ship was Stanislaus, who cackled gleefully from the gunnery deck every time he fired the main guns.

"Commander Drake!" Armistead gasped. He was a rather old man and the last thing he had wanted to experience while exiting warp was a full scale assault by a swarm of zerg. "We're being hailed"

"Put it through." The commander replied. A British voice sounded through the bridge's loudspeaker.

"Perseus, this is Captain Freeman of the DSS Scipio here with the DSS Nelson. What is your status? We need to speak to your captain."

"We could use a little help," Drake sighed, as bolts of orange energy began to help vaporize the zerg swarm. "But the captain is still getting out of cryo. He should be finished in about an hour."

Forty-five minutes later, Captain Fiske stood on the bridge, surveying the damage. All in all, things weren't too bad, but if the Scipio and Nelson hadn't arrived the Perseus would have gotten a run for its money. The hull was cratered in a few semi important places by mutalisk acid, and twelve of the ship's 120 marines were dead, but all in all the damage was superficial. It was odd however that the point defense system had ceased to function right as the zerg attacked. Sabotage was on everyone's minds, but no one wanted to say it. _Oh well,_the captain mused._There's a reason why I'm installing security cameras._

Drake was standing silently as usual, watching the goings on.

"Well," Fiske said to him. "I would like to commend you on your innovative use of marines as makeshift point defense. As for what necessitated that quick fix…" he trailed off. "I'm going over to the Aleksander to speak with the other captains. You have the bridge Mr. Drake."

Captain Fiske sat at a conference table aboard the Aleksander. Across from him were a number of other captains, including Captain Freeman of the Scipio. At the head of the table was Admiral DuGalle.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," DuGalle began in a thick French accent. "We have little time to spare, so I will be brief. The political situation we expected to find has changed. The confederacy has been dissolved, and in its place is the Terran Dominion, run by a man named Arcturus Mengsk. We know little else about this new regime, but nevertheless, our primary objective remains the same: to claim the Koprulu for Earth and to subdue the zerg threat. Individual orders have been sent to each of your ships. I expect you to depart by at least 0600 tomorrow. Dismissed." As the captains began to file out of the room, DuGalle added, "Will Captains Fiske of the _Perseus,_Freeman of the _Scipio,_ and Nakayama of the _Horatio Nelson_ please stay?"

Perplexed, Fiske waited for the other captains to leave. When the only four left in the room were Freeman, Nakayama, Fiske, and DuGalle, the admiral began to speak.

"I thought that I would give you your orders personally," he said. "We've detected an unknown ship in one of the coreward sectors. It does not belong to any of the species listed in the report, so our intelligence has failed us. I want to know how badly. It seems to have some sort of Biological armor and it uses a different form of warp travel then we do. Something resembling a vortex appears, and the ship disappears into it. Other than that we know virtually nothing about this ship. It hasn't shown hostile intent, but I urge you to be careful, as we're dealing with a first contact situation. Fiske, your ship is fastest, so you will take point. Nakayama and Freeman, you will provide backup if things 'get hairy' as the Americans say. I have provided you with its last known coordinates, and I expect you to leave well before the others. You are dismissed."

Fiske saluted and then walked out with the two captains.

"What do you think that was about," Nakayama asked the other two when they were safely out of earshot.

"It means that we are off the main invasion; on the other hand, we have an unknown situation to go traipsing off into," Freeman replied. "Depending on your point of view, that is either a good thing or a bad thing."

"True, true," Fiske replied. "I'll send you both areas to patrol, so you can keep yourselves out of trouble. Don't do anything stupid, and keep an ear out for any demands for assistance. Take it easy, and nothing should happen."

"Reminiscing about Jupiter again?" Freeman asked.

It took some time for Fiske to respond, "That, and other things."

They parted ways, and went to their respective ships.

Sitting in the captain's briefing room, Drake listened to the captain explain the Perseus's orders. He marveled to himself at how he, a former vagrant on Gliese colony had somehow wound up as second in command of a first contact situation. His reverie was ended when the captain abruptly asked,

"Well, what's your opinion on all this?"

Tiberius thought a moment and the replied, "It sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but it seems excessive to send three ships where one would do the job just as well. I think that there's more to this than the admiral is letting on."

"My thoughts exactly," Fiske replied. "But we've no choice except carry out the orders and hope for the best." He turned to his comm. panel and pressed the button for the bridge. "Mitchell, I want us on our way to the coordinates I gave you in one minute."

"Aye, aye sir," the lieutenant replied.

Fiske turned to Drake and said, "Until we arrive, you have the bridge Commander."

Wordlessly, Drake saluted and walked out. He arrived at the bridge just in time to see the fiery vortex of warp travel replace the inky blackness of the night they had just left.

Malik stepped out of the de-chambers, exhausted. The de-chambers were the marine's nickname for decontamination, de-suiting, and debriefing.

None of Malik's squad had died, but ten percent casualties on the first day out of warp were disheartening, and morale was low. Malik, not in the mood for idle chat in the cantina trudged to his bunk and began reading the book _Jungle Plants of HD 5444, Volume III_. Botany was his passion, and after a firefight, he found reading about plants extremely relaxing.

March 30th, 2501

Fiske stood on the bridge as the Perseus dropped into real space. There was an anticlimactic silence as everyone waited for a sensor to beep or something to appear in visual range. All they saw was a red dwarf star and a few chunks of rock. Finally Fiske spoke up.

"Well miss Patel, take us into orbit around that asteroid before we crash into something. Armistead, keep scanning the area. There is rumored to be a Protoss nexus here, so everyone keep on your toes in case they don't react well to our presence."

There was a chorus of "aye-ayes" and then life returned to the bridge as they began carrying out the captain's orders. A half hour passed until suddenly there was beeping from the com system.

"We're being hailed." Armistead said.

"By whom?" replied Fiske. All the sensors read that they were completely alone.

"I think it's a cloaked ship sir. Shall I put them on?"

"Do so."

Armistead pushed a button and a Protoss face filled the viewscreen.

"You are trespassing in Protoss space. Explain yourself," it intoned.

"We are just looking for a ship that passed through this system." The captain cautiously replied.

"Such a ship did come," the Protoss replied. "But we advise you to turn back. It stank of an evil not of this world. We have sent a carrier to dispatch it but it fled to the Kal'dura system. You humans call it Sigma 884. It will soon be no more. Now be gone." The Protoss face vanished and suddenly two Protoss cruisers flew out from behind the asteroid. Both trained their main weapon, some sort of crystal suspended between three golden booms at the front of the ship, upon the Perseus.

"Well Mr. Mitchell," the captain said calmly, "As the fellow said. Take us to Sigma 884."

"Aye sir." The lieutenant replied. There was a sense of unease on the bridge. Something about the Protoss put the humans on edge.

The jump to Sigma 884 was a short one, and Morton sat poised in his chair on the gunnery deck in case thing turned ugly. They did. When the Perseus left warp she found an expansive space battle about 50 km ahead. One ship was obviously the Protoss carrier, and the other, a vast ship of over three kilometers. It read as organic to the Perseus's sensors and appeared to be covered with scales. Both it and the carrier had launched swarms of fighters which were dogfighting in the region of space between the two ships. The carrier's interceptors were holding up valiantly, but they were outnumbered and outgunned.

Without warning a squadron of 20 of the unidentified alien fighters broke off and advanced toward the Perseus. After a few seconds, one began to fire, dealing minimal damage with a blue beam that glanced of the Perseus's hull.

"Launch wraiths and fire upon that ship Mr. Morton," crackled the captain's voice over the intercom, "After we take out those fighters I say it's high time we tested out our Yamato cannon."

"Aye-aye sir," Morton replied. To the gunnery crew he added, "You heard the captain; scramble all wraiths, and begin firing upon those fighters." The gunnery deck turned into a flurry of activity as all 24 wraiths swarmed out of the Perseus's hull, and all eight forward turrets opened fire. The opening salvo took out six enemies, thanks to quick work on the part of Stanislaus. The rest began taking an evasive pattern as the fiery lances of plasma began to streak out towards them.

"Stanislaus!" Morton called out. "Tighten up that firing pattern! We want to keep the majority of fighters _away_ from the ship. Stop herding them toward us."

The advice came as several displays started flickering, and while it did not cause any slowdowns, the disturbance was a little frightening. Morton noted the time of the glitch but kept his head in the game. "Come on, people!" Morton continued. "Let's show them what a crack crew can do. Keep up the pressure!" During this, the score rose to Perseus: 9, Unknowns: 0.

The bridge crew noticed the glitch too, and began focusing on the outside as much as possible to avoid any mishaps.

Five minutes later the Carrier was not looking well. Only a few interceptors were still in play, and the shields of the Carrier were about to fall.

The Perseus, however, was rapidly closing with the large unknown, with only one enemy fighter still flying and two friendlies lost.

"Mr. Morton," Fiske said with a great amount of confidence. "Please give me a shooting solution on the hostile cap-ship."

"With pleasure sir," Morton replied.

At one of the various panels in gunnery, Lieutenant Morton did what he loved to do, target and then fire the Yamato Cannon. As he zeroed in on the hostile's apparent weak spots, he started humming_Yellow Submarine_ to himself.

What started as the loud screech of several fan-belts fighting to get some sort of grip quickly became the crackle of arcing electricity, and then a subtle orange glow on the very front of the hammerhead appeared. In the space of a few seconds that subtle orange glow gained several hundred candelas in intensity, and then a ball of flame issued from the place where the orange glow was, and hurtled toward the unidentified ship. Then ten megatons of sheer energy caused several layers of the biological armor of the massive ship to boil off in moments, and a rough circle of charred something or other surrounded the impact site. Only one item in the Perseus's arsenal could beat that kind of devastation, and that was the Birdie.

"Excellent hit, Mr. Morton," Fiske said.

"We'll send them a torpedo chaser, compliments of our very own gunnery deck," Morton replied.

At that point a half-dozen points of light issued from the Perseus, each carrying two-point-five megatons of power. The torpedoes were aimed true, and followed the wound tract caused by the Yamato blast straight to the heart of the enemy ship. The various impacts caused what appeared to be a visible tremor in the titan's hull, and just as the crew began to cheer, one sensor technician called out, "Power buildup in the enemy vessel, sir! They may be trying to escape!"

"Gunnery deck, this is the Bridge," Fiske called into the intercom. "Send everything possible into the engines of this hostile. I don't want it to escape!" Then as an aside to the sensor tech, "Begin recording whatever happens. I want to know everything I can."

Morton's reply came at this point, "We're trying sir, the controls just locked out. I repeat, we have minimal firing control."

Fiske then said to the sensor tech, "Begin recording whatever happens. I want to know everything I can."

Several bridge officers also noticed that their terminals had frozen as well, and all of a sudden, the screens of every single one went black.

A massive vortex opened in the space ahead of the unknown vessel, and as the injured ship slipped through, Fiske felt several old habits, ones that he once thought long broken, resurface.

Several minutes after the alien ship disappeared, the various consoles came back online. It was at this point that Fiske said, "I hope, for the sake of whoever is committing this sabotage, that we were able to record that last incident, for if we didn't, I will personally feed him or her to the reactor."

"We did get the recordings, sir," the same sensor tech stated. "They'll be ready for review in a few minutes."

As the ship recovered from the control lockout, Fiske was inside his quarters reviewing security recordings from various points of interest. The lockout hadn't shut down the cameras, but one in particular had cut to static during the entire battle. Fiske noted the position of the camera when Drake came in.

"Yes, Commander?" Fiske asked.

"We've begun a full sweep and the ship is on high alert. The Ghosts have an alibi, as does the engineering crew," Drake replied.

"Well done," Fiske said. "Have security checkpoints placed at sensitive areas, and full patrols going throughout the ship."

Drake nodded.

"What is your opinion on the hostiles?" Fiske asked.

"They certainly are not the enemies we expected to find," Drake began. "Obviously they are more used to fighting shielded targets with minimal hull strength. Their capital vessels are obviously vulnerable to weapons such as the Yamato cannon, and their pilots are probably not as well trained as they might believe. The reason they nearly beat the Carrier was because of sheer weight of numbers."

Fiske's desk console began to beep, indicating an incoming transmission. Fiske answered.

"Captain," Armistead began. "It's the Protoss. They're demanding to speak with you, and they don't sound too happy about our being here."

_Not likely_, Fiske thought. "Put them through to my quarters," he told Armistead. "I'll go the nine rounds in here."

It was only seconds before a Protoss face filled the screen on Fiske's terminal, and, as Protoss faces go, he or she looked rather irate.

"I am Executor Zolantros," the Protoss said, "Commander of the Carrier _Tel'Xa_. While your assistance in the recent battle is appreciated, you are commanded to leave immediately."

What sense of diplomacy Fiske had quickly left him, "Assistance? Commanded to leave immediately? We saved your ass from an early meeting with whatever deity you serve! In light of what just happened, I reserve the right to stick around and learn whatever I can."

Drake looked sidelong at his commanding officer, and was about to enact his duty of relieving the Captain when he was unfit for duty when Zolantros spoke.

"You are trespassing in Protoss space," he said. "We are permitted to use force to remove any interlopers. You are an interloper."

It was at this point when Drake cleared his throat, and said to the Protoss Executor, "Sir, if you would give me and my commanding officer a moment, I would be grateful."

Zolantros grudgingly agreed, and the communication was quickly cut off. Then, with the most emotion he had made obvious throughout the entire mission, Drake said only what was necessary, "Sir, you need to calm down. We don't need to start a second war in the same day. If you cannot get a handle on your emotions, I will relieve you of duty."

Fiske conceded this point saying, "You're right, I do need to get a grip. These incidents with the sabotage and the battle have me revisiting memories I don't need to see right now." He sighed, and began massaging his temples. "Take over this dialogue," Fiske said. "Try to avoid making him even angrier, and, if necessary, pull us to a safe distance from the system. As for me, I'm going to get a cigarette."

Drake readied himself, and then pressed the button on Fiske's console to resume the conversation.

"Well?" Zolantros asked.

"I think," Drake began, "that we can both get farther if we work together. You saw that that vessel was hostile to both of us. I don't know about you, but I don't like to see a job go unfinished. We would be more than willing to back you up and go after them together."

Zolantros' eyes narrowed as if he was scrutinizing Drake. "You showed valor today. Perhaps we can let you accompany us on a journey of vengeance. It will take us two of your days to repair our ship and rebuild our interceptors. When that time arrives, we will leave. We have set an observer on their tail, so we will be able to track them. En Taro Tassadar human."

Drake nodded and hit the button. _All it took was a cool head,_ he thought to himself. He walked to the bridge, where he found Captain Fiske sitting in his chair in a clearly foul mood.

"Captain," Drake said and saluted. "The Protoss have agreed to let us accompany them when they leave to track down the unknown ship."

"Very good Commander," Fisk said smiling, "It would seem your diplomatic talent exceeds mine. When do we leave?"

"Two days," Drake replied.

"Good." said the captain, "That gives us time to repair and to try to work out those glitches. We leave in two days."

Drake made his way back to his quarters, watching as crewmen busied themselves with the maintenance of the ship. He, however, did not have a task, and so he collapsed onto his bunk and took a long nap.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Two days had passed, and the Perseus was back in ship-shape. The guns were calibrated, the hull polished, and there had been no further problems with glitches. Fiske stood on the bridge, waiting for the go ahead from Zolantros. The coordinates of the mysterious ship had been sent to the Perseus half an hour earlier, and now all she needed was the signal that the Tel'xa was ready. Just then, the ships communicator beeped.

"This is the Tel'xa. We are now leaving," came the steely voice of Zolantros.

"Roger that, we're right on your tail." Fiske replied. He nodded to Ensign Patel, who pushed the button to activate warp. A split second later, the black background of stars that they were now used to was replaced by the swirling colorful vortex of hyperspace. The crew sat poised on the bridge, ready to open fire the minute the Perseus left warp. The tense atmosphere continued the whole half hour they spent in warp, and as they dropped into real space, the crew leapt into action. About 50 km ahead to the Perseus and Tel'xa, a huge battle was unfolding. On one side were six of the mysterious alien ships. On the other side were more apparently alien ships, but these had an oddly familiar design. There were three prominent designs. Two of the ships were massive (at least three kilometers) with a long hull and three wing like protrusions. These were busy firing green lasers at the unknown interlopers. Meanwhile the second design of ship was not unlike that of a twentieth century submarine. It was about 1 kilometer long, and had a grey hull with blue trim. Strangely enough, it had what looked like English lettering painted on the conning tower. Three ships possessed this design, one of which was badly damaged. The third design was about 200 meters long. It was different from the other two in that it had organic, flowing curves on its mottled silver and blue hull. There were ten of these, and they maneuvered through the battle with the ease of fighters. Despite their small size, it quickly became evident that these ships had the firepower of a ship many times their size.

"Tel'xa, this is the Perseus." Captain Fiske began. "I suggest that we attempt a scan and assess the situation before we make a move."

"I am sorry captain," Zolantros intoned in reply, "We are bound by our oath of vengeance. You may stay or go, but we must fight."

Captain Fiske thought for a second, and then turned to the bridge crew. "We're going in. Prime all weapons, and prepare to focus fire on their least damaged ship."

Back in the Strategic Bridge, Tiberius watched the battle unfold on the gigantic holographic display in the center of the room. The defenders were placing their 1-kilometer ships between the attackers and the presumably more important 3-kilometer ships. The small ships were fighting off the swarms of attacking fighters. The attackers were attempting to flank the defending force, maneuvering their large carriers around all sides of the defenders.

On the Strategic Bridge, Drake's main duty was to take over if the Main Bridge was destroyed. Other than that, he simply had to supervise the gunnery crew and keep the captain informed of what was happening to the ship's rear.

As the Perseus and Tel'xa approached, Drake watched as two of the Attacker's ships concentrated their fire on the damaged 1-km ship. It exploded violently. Immediately, attacking fighters began to swarm through the gap that was made. In response, one of the 3-km ships started to release several squadrons of fighters. These fighters had a central cockpit, with for wings extending from it. At the tip of each wing was an engine. Tiberius marveled that the incredible maneuverability this design gave them, for as the exited the 3-km ship, they began to perform complex evasive maneuvers that would be nearly impossible in a wraith. Despite this advantage, they clearly lacked the firepower of the attacking fighters, and were being slowly picked off. The whole battle was going badly for the defenders. There were only five smaller ships left, and they had just lost another 1-km. At that moment, Tiberius saw that the Perseus had entered combat range. The ship's opening salvo was impressive, enough to leave a large hole in one of the attacking ships. The Tel'xa stopped and released a storm of fighters that began to engage the enemies. In response, two attacking ships broke off and began to fire upon the Perseus and Tel'xa, and swarms of fighters descended upon them. For the next ten minutes, the battle raged on. One of the 3-km ships was reduced to scrap metal. Two of the attacking ships were taken down, but the endless waves of fighters were wearing the Perseus and Tel'xa down.

On the Main Bridge, Captain Fiske looked upon the battle with consternation. He pressed the com button for Lt. Morton.

"Mr. Morton, prepare to fire the Yamato cannon. Target their least damaged ship."

"Aye-aye sir," Morton replied. There was a hum as the guns and engines stopped and the Yamato cannon began charging. A minute later, 10 megatons of directed nuclear energy sped toward the enemy ship. It was a direct hit, and the ship was blasted in two. A cheer went up on the bridge. As they went back to targeting and firing at enemy fighters, Fiske noticed that there was a strange glow coming from the wingtips of the 3-km ship. In an event not unlike what had happened just minutes earlier, a beam of green energy shot from the wingtips into its nose, and from the nose into one of the attacking ships. All six kilometers of the attacking ship were suddenly reduced to semi-molten fragments. The two remaining attackers turned around, and quickly shot off into the vortices that they seemed to be able to create at will. Fiske turned to the bridge crew.

"Good job everyone. Indira, take us around their fleet. I want to do some scans." Just as he finished talking, Amistead gasped.

"Captain, I'm receiving a very bizarre signal. Its…" he said.

"From whom?" the captain asked.

"It seems to be the ships we just saved." Armistead answered. "I'll put it through. You won't believe this." He pushed a button, and an unmistakably human voice filled the room.

"I doubt you understand this," said the voice, "But on behalf of my crew and I, I'd like to thank you for your much needed assistance."

There was a silence on the bridge.

"This is Captain Zachary Fiske of the DSS Perseus." Fiske replied cautiously, "Who are you."

"Acting Captain Jeremiah Burke of the ISS G'kar," the voice replied, "Captain, I think we need to talk."

"I think," the captain replied, "you are indeed correct."

An hour later on the bridge of the G'kar

Tiberius sat in the large conference room on the G'kar next to Captain Fiske. In the past hour he had learned that these newcomers were mostly humans from another universe. They claimed to have launched to the Koprulu sector by way of a "flux vortex". Tiberius was extremely skeptical, and yet, it seemed the only explanation for all that he saw. The people were clearly human, but their clothes, technology, and other details were all different from the humans of his universe. Their Captain, Jeremiah Burke, was a medium height, middle-aged man with graying blond hair and a slight paunch. In some respects, he had a strange resemblance to the captain. He wore the striking black uniform that all his upper officers wore, but had considerably more decorations pinned to it.

In the conference room, they had been trading information. The negotiations began with the humans from both universes attempting to figure out what had happened and where they were. Once that had been squared away, they began to give details as to who they were. Captain Fiske began, telling the newcomers about the UED, Koprulu sector, the Protoss, the Zerg, the Dominion, and the technologies used by all. He ended by telling them a condensed version of their history.

Next, it was Acting Captain Burke's turn to speak.

"Well," he began, "You are aboard the ISS G'kar, a Victory class starship. It is part of the fleet of the Interstellar Alliance, a galactic peacekeeping organization from our universe. Our galaxy contains many alien species, however the only one's you'll meet on this ship are the Minbari, Narn, and Drazi. Our first and most renowned leader, John J. Sheridan, founded the Interstellar Alliance.

As you know, we were patrolling the area around Centauri space when we encountered a flux vortex. Next thing we knew, we were here. We spent about a month exploring the area before we were attacked by the Drakh. The Drakh are a very violent species that were created and left behind by another violent species, the shadows. It's a very complicated story, but what you need to know about the Drakh is this: They use biological starships, which are fairly weak despite their size. They like to employ hit and run tactics on weak or defenseless targets. The Drakh also have one highly dangerous technology. They can perform a sort of mind control with "keepers"; organisms that are found on the necks of controlled individuals. Anyways, at that point you entered the story with that other ship, Protoss you said?"

"Yes," Fiske replied. His brow was furrowed with consternation, an emotion not usually found on the captain's face. Burke spoke up again.

"We would be honored, captain, if you would be so kind as to stay with us while we make repairs."

Fiske thought for a moment, and then said, "Yes, I think we'll do that. But first allow me to contact my commanding admiral. In the meantime, I think I will leave my second in command with you, as an ambassador between out universes."

Tiberius raised an eyebrow in astonishment, but he did not protest. After a brief conference with his officers, Burke said, "Welcome, Mr. uh,"

"Tiberius Drake", interjected Drake.

"Welcome, Tiberius Drake, to the G'kar. We will set up your accommodations immediately."

With that, both men stood up, nodded to each other, and began to leave the room.

Tiberius walked alongside Captain Burke through the endless hallways of the G'kar. The captain had been giving him a tour, and Drake marveled at the immensity and complexity of the ship. It was beyond anything the UED could build, and according to the captain, the product of the combined effort of thousands of worlds. Drake got to meet several aliens, who were surprisingly humanlike compared to the Protoss or zerg. The captain also told Drake about the history of his universe, mainly focusing on the exploits of John Sheridan. Drake took all of this with a grain of salt, but found the stories quite compelling. As Captain Burke was showing him the engine room, a siren went off.

"Oh Damn!" Burke said, and rushed off to the bridge. Drake ran after him, even though he knew that there was nothing he could do. As he walked on to the bridge, he looked out the window and saw three Drakh ships exit the blue vortices that Burke had called "jump points". Drake noticed that there was something else with them however. He zoomed in with his robotic eye and saw swarms of zerg flying alongside the Drakh ships.

Drake turned to Burke. "Captain, we have a problem."

**If you have read this far, please review!**

**Constructive criticism welcome, this is our first crack at fanfic writing, and we want to know how we are doing**


End file.
